


bury me til i confess

by xerampelinae



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/F, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pre-Kerberos Mission, Pre-Slash, Rule 63, background adam/shiro - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 19:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xerampelinae/pseuds/xerampelinae
Summary: “Happy birthday, Keith,” Shiro says, ruffling her hair fondly. Keith mumbles her thanks, head ducked down in both invitation and to hide flushing cheeks. Kindly, Shiro obliges, then hooks her arm around Keith to tuck her into her side. “Any plans?”-a young lesbian pines and gets her ears pierced





	bury me til i confess

**Author's Note:**

> this one's for you, keith. happy birthday.
> 
> (this work is meant to be almost 2k so i will add those words in when ao3 allows me to)

Uniform regulations are incredibly strict: necklace permitted if concealed under shirt collar; two rings permitted on hands, with wedding and engagement bands counted as a single item; bracelet and watch (or two bracelets) allowed on separate wrists; a single set of small stud earrings centered on the lobe, permitted in silver or gold in battle dress, and pearl or diamond in dress blues.

Shiro’s fastidious, from training simulation to assignment grading to uniform code. Looking at her--it doesn’t invoke envy in Keith, it’s something grounding, solid and familiar--it’s not that Shiro’s someone impossibly perfect, but she is a polestar by whom Keith navigates. 

There’s something about the sleek angled bob of Shiro’s hair, tucked behind one ear and flashing the white gold stud there. It’s some variant of cute or nice, Keith finds, but in a way that is impossible to explain so Keith just. Never talks about.

If there’s any place like the Garrison, it’s a group home. There are a lot of expectations, for one, and a hierarchy stacked high with people obligated to a certain degree of responsibility. Which is what Keith thinks, when one day Shiro pins her down with a searching look.

“You like these?” Shiro asks, carefully casual. They’re out in the desert and Shiro’s tugging her own ear jokingly. Instead of Shiro's usual white gold studs, she's wearing lunescent white pearls. The color of them brings out the warmth of Shiro's skin tone, makes her look less pale. There's something about seeing Shiro out of uniform but somehow just as composed in casualwear.

“They’re nice, I guess,” Keith says.

“You ever wanted yours done?” Shiro asks.

Keith shrugs. “Dunno,” she says.

“I had mine done as a kid,” Shiro says easily. “They can be fun.”

For a while, they’re quiet as they watch the sun dip down along the horizon. “Never thought about it before,” Keith says finally. “Suit you though.”

“Think about it,” Shiro says, carefully not-looking at Keith in a way that’s not meant to pressure her into anything. It’s very Shiro. Thoughtful. It doesn’t get Keith’s hackles up anymore, not when she knows it’s part of how Shiro is. There is no intent to ingratiate and then turn against her. “No rush.”

Mutely, Keith nods.

-

"I guess it'd be nice," she says one day while they eat dinner together.

"Hm?" Shiro says.

"Piercing my ears," Keith says, blushing a little and not knowing why but not being able to stop the wayward bloodflow. "I mean. If it didn't look weird. You know."

For a moment Shiro stares at her, even and searching. "Yeah," Shiro says, guileless, "I think they'd suit you."

Keith can't help the way she ducks, cheeks aflame. Shiro hums and grins, but blessedly is silent.

-

“Happy birthday, Keith,” Shiro says, ruffling her hair fondly. Keith mumbles her thanks, head ducked down in both invitation and to hide flushing cheeks. Kindly, Shiro obliges, then hooks her arm around Keith to tuck her into her side. “Any plans?”

“Nothing unusual,” Keith admits. “Why?”

“Well,” Shiro says, "proposal: if you're still interested in getting your ears pierced, I take you sometime during recreational hours."

"Sure," Keith says. "You want to do it later?"

"Are--" Shiro says, "are you sure? I mean, it's your birthday, you don't want to do something more--?"

"This is good," Keith says.

"Well," Shiro says, laughing a little, "alright then. I'll pick you up in street clothes. Bring your ID card.”

-

It feels odd to wearing something other than one of the Garrison’s various uniforms after so long; as ill-suited as the uniform’s pressed lines and sharp collar sometimes seem, even Keith’s loose shirt and favorite hoodie can feel alien now. It’s rare that Keith is at liberty to go off base: Keith’s classmates don’t trust her, and she doesn’t understand them. Most often, Keith wears these clothes while out with Shiro--and that’s a sign, somehow, of something that she can’t put her finger on--that she can slip back into this old skin with Shiro.

Shiro's already in the parking lot, standing in front of the faceless legion of officers’ cars and occasional motorcycle and staring at her phone. She’s back in her pearl earrings, with her racing jacket layered over a soft, loose top that hints at cleavage without showcasing much of it, and sturdy old leggings that disappear into boots.

"What's up first?" Keith asks, climbing onto the back of Shiro’s bike and waiting for Shiro to settle in herself.

“Well,” Shiro says, flashing a grin over her shoulder, “if you’re still interested, there’s a slot open at the piercing parlor in half an hour. You have all of your things?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Keith says, faux formal. This close she can feel as much as see when Shiro shakes with mute laughter; Keith flushes and settles lower where she sits.

“Here goes,” Shiro says.

-

The parlor is a beautiful, art-filled space. Piercing jewelry from utilitarian to ornate fills glass cabinets throughout the room; ink and colorful acrylic paintings are placed here and there.

“Hey, Violet,” Shiro says to the woman behind the counter, and to Keith, “let’s head up there.”

The paperwork doesn’t take much time, to be honest, and then Violet is taking Keith’s ID card with its driver’s and pilot’s endorsements and matching it up to what’s written out in Keith’s terse scrawl.

“Happy sixteenth, huh,” Violet says, not looking up. “Alright, go ahead and take a look at your options here.”

“Regulations require silver or gold studs,” Keith says absently, feeling Shiro’s gaze. Quietly, Shiro steps up to the counter as well, arm brushing Keith’s.

“Are you leaning towards one?” Shiro asks.

“My, um,” Keith says, “my dad once said our last name translated to ‘gold.’ But I don’t know if that suits me according to color theory or whatever.”

“_Gold_ would be right,” Shiro says absently. “I think it would suit you.”

“This is the size that Garrison folk typically pick,” Violet says. The number that she gives for it makes Keith blanch, turning in horror to Shiro. This is more than she’d expected, more than she can justify spending from the meager allowance left over in scholarship fund. On the other hand, Shiro already has her little minimalist wallet out and is being waved off by Violet, for after the appointment’s completion.

“Shiro, I can’t ask you to--” Keith splutters, blushing.

Shiro winks. It should be a cliche move or even smarmy but it’s not, not with Shiro. Keith’s mouth snaps shut. “My treat,” Shiro says. “It may or may not be a two-parter.”

Keith stares, slack-jawed and heart racing. This is. This is a lot. This is--

“Hey,” Shiro says, softer now. She bumps her shoulder up against Keith’s. “Don’t worry about the cost. I’ve got the money for it, and I want you to have nice things that won’t hurt you the way some of the more commonly-used metals can. But take that out of the equation. Is this something that you want?”

Mouth pressed tightly shut, Keith nods. Shiro slings an arm over her shoulders, tugging her close; Keith goes willingly, tipping her head against Shiro’s collar where the jacket smells clean and Shiro-like.

“Alright,” Shiro says. “Wheels up.”

“Yessir,” Keith mumbles. Shiro laughs--as hoped--and the sound of it lightens the weight on Keith’s shoulders.

-

The actual piercing isn’t anything horrific. Keith’s ear lobes get swabbed down and she breathes through the extended discomfort of the needle and earring placement. Her ears throb but she’s had worse from scuffles, even just counting those at the Garrison.

“How’s it feel?” Shiro asks, studying Keith’s face.

Keith shrugs. “Fine,” she says.

"They look good," Shiro says, and then Violet's back in front with them, holding cleaning solution and ready to impart aftercare instructions.

-

"What next?" Shiro asks as they step out of the piercing parlor. "Hungry?"

"I could eat," Keith says.

"You could always eat," Shiro says, but gently and with a bump of her shoulder to Keith's. It's familiar territory, just as much as the way Shiro can match Keith bite for bite. Hungry Asians, Shiro will say with a wink, and it's true. Even the more rigorously-training officers and cadets sometimes stop and stare, watching them eat.

It’s still astounding how much Sichuan food they put away between the two of them.

-

The evening ends back in the base housing unit Shiro and Adele share; Adele’s out, so Keith is free to quietly study the space without the weight or judgement of her gaze. Keith is pretty sure that Adele doesn’t like her, and in fact only tolerates her because of the way she’s been taken under Shiro’s wing. 

“So,” Shiro says, appearing back out of the bedroom. “There may or may not be one more thing I have for you today.”

Her hands automatically take the box from Shiro, and, with trepidation, open it. Nestled into a velvety interior are a pair of drop earrings: bright, blood-red garnet cabochons set in yellow gold. The fastening is hinged; no parts to lose, as with a traditional stud and earring back, and more stable than a simple hook. Unlike the current trend of jewelry, the design is filled in with metalworking rather than the glittering facets of other gems; it’s less flashy, more akin to what Keith herself might choose. It’s also clear that these are expensive, well beyond the earrings currently nestled into Keith’s earlobes.

“Shiro--” Keith says, heart squeezing with the same guilt that comes when someone spends money or effort beyond the necessary on her behalf. 

For a moment Shiro just stands looking at Keith through some tangle of emotions that she can’t unravel and parse. “I have a story to tell you,” Shiro says, “and if it’s over and you need to, just think of it as next year’s gift, for while I’m on the Kerberos mission.”

Throat suddenly dry, Keith nods.

“When I was young,” Shiro says, leaning back against the wall, “my grandmother gave me these.”

Shiro opens a small jewelry box monogrammed M and with a name that Keith can’t quite catch. Tucked inside the velvet interior are a pair of lustrous black pearl earrings. These pearls are the opposite of the pair Shiro’s currently wearing: larger, and accented by white gold and well-cut diamonds arranged in the Art Deco style.

“I’d been--sick,” Shiro says, reluctantly, “for a while. So I wondered why she would buy something so expensive when my medical care was already costing so much. And she told that everyone deserves to enjoy beautiful things.”

“They are beautiful,” Keith says. 

“I understand if it’s a lot,” Shiro says, smiling wryly, “but when I saw them I thought of you, and then you were interested in piercing your ears.”

“It’s not--too much?” Keith says, eyes shining. “It won’t upset Adele?”

Shiro sighs fondly, clapping Keith’s shoulder, tugging her into her side. “No, it’s not too much,” Shiro says. “I don’t want to bore you with the details but we keep separate finances. We both set aside money for things like this.”

“Oh,” Keith says, leaning into Shiro. “How soon can I wear them?”

Shiro laughs. “Going to be at least six weeks, little spitfire, or however long the instructions say. You still have them?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Keith mumbles, face pressed into Shiro’s bicep. “Anyways, why pearls?”

“Our family used to be pearl divers,” Shiro says, patting the top of Keith’s head. “And then they cultivated them, eventually. I chose garnets for you since red’s lucky and your color. It suits you.”

“Thank you,” Keith murmurs. Shiro just laughs fondly.

-

On the night promised by cave hieroglyphics a star shines brighter and brighter as it begins to fall towards the desert. Something ancient calls Keith forth and she climbs onto the hoverbike to chase it, garnets and gold swaying against her cheeks as the breeze kicks up.

Whatever she’s been waiting for is already here. Pulling the scarf up over her face, Keith grins.

**Author's Note:**

> title from fall out boy's 'uma thurman'
> 
> some background and graphics can be found in this thread: https://twitter.com/belovedbacon/status/1169047880243404800?s=09
> 
> this may be my last work for a while, but we'll see. trying to put myself back together and work on some original works.


End file.
